A Wallflower for the Disguised Earl (Love and Intrigue in High Society)

Chapter 1

“Mother,” Vivienne announced to the velvet carriage roof, “if we strike one more rut in this miserable road, my spine will splinter, and the Earl of Ravenswood will be forced to marry a pile of fashionable dust.”

Eleanor patted her chest and adjusted the high collar of her traveling cloak. “Do try to be patient, Vivienne. We are well within London now. The driver is simply navigating the cobblestones. The letter from your aunt assured us that her street is quite respectable.”

Corinna kept her eyes fixed on the window as the carriage rattled past a row of tall brick townhouses.

Fashionable dust would probably make a far less demanding countess, she thought.

She shifted on the rigid leather seat and leaned her head against the cool glass. Her own reflection stared back at her in the fading afternoon light. She pushed a stray strand of dark hair behind her ear.

Her pale skin looked even more washed out from the three days of travel, and her gray eyes felt heavy with exhaustion. She was slight in frame, completely lacking the physical presence that seemed to burst naturally from her elder sister.

Beside her, Vivienne looked as though she had just stepped out of a fresh oil portrait. Not a single strand of her golden hair had dared to fall out of place. Her blue eyes were bright with anticipation.

She was tall, graceful, and possessed the kind of classical beauty that made people stop and stare in church. Vivienne knew this, of course. She had spent the last twenty years acting accordingly.

The carriage finally shuddered to a halt outside a door painted a rather shocking shade of yellow.

“Good heavens,” Eleanor murmured. “I had forgotten how bold Phoebe’s tastes are.”

Corinna stepped down onto the pavement first. The London air smelled immediately of coal smoke, damp earth, and horse manure. It was loud, chaotic, and different from the quiet green isolation of their country estate. She liked it immediately.

The bright yellow door swung open before the footman could even reach for the knocker.

Aunt Phoebe stood in the entryway. She wore a deep green silk gown that was hopelessly out of current fashion, and she held a stained wooden palette in her left hand.

A smudge of burnt sienna rested carelessly on her left cheek.

At forty-four, Phoebe Cavendish looked exactly like a woman who had been widowed young, inherited a modest income, and decided never to ask for anyone’s permission again.

“Eleanor,” Phoebe declared, waving the hand that did not hold wet paint. “You look exactly as tense as you did when you were fifteen. Come inside before the damp ruins those cloaks entirely.”

Eleanor stepped into the hallway and immediately froze. “Phoebe, my word. It smells like an apothecary in here.”

“Turpentine and linseed oil,” Phoebe replied cheerfully. “You will cease to notice it by tomorrow. Leave the trunks for the servants, girls, and come into the sitting room.”

Corinna followed her mother and sister down the hall. The contrast to their country home was immediate. Where Eleanor kept everything meticulously ordered and symmetrical, Phoebe’s townhouse was a chaotic gallery of creative freedom.

Canvases were propped against the floral wallpaper in various states of completion. Stacks of books sat haphazardly on side tables. There was no rigid formality here, only warmth and clutter.

They settled into the sitting room. Eleanor perched on the edge of a velvet armchair, trying to smooth out the creases in her skirt.

Vivienne walked directly to the large mirror above the mantelpiece and began pinching her cheeks to restore their color.

Corinna took a seat in the corner, pressing herself into the deep cushions of a sofa, and watched them all.

“I am surprised Gerald did not make the journey,” Phoebe said. She set her palette down on a side table without a protective cloth, a move that made Eleanor wince visibly.

“You know how Gerald is about the estate,” Eleanor replied.

She accepted a cup of tea from a maid who had appeared as silently as a ghost. “He insisted on staying behind to manage the planting. But we are here for Vivienne’s Season, and we have much to prepare.

I must admit, I am nervous, Phoebe. The pace of London is already draining. ”

“You only just arrived, Mother,” Vivienne said. She turned away from the mirror and claimed a chair near the fire. “There is nothing to be nervous about. We know exactly why we are here.”

“Yes,” Eleanor said, lowering her voice slightly.

“The arrangement. It is a relief that Gerald’s baronetcy is finally secure.

That dreadful business with the inheritance took two years to settle in his favor.

Two years! It is a blessing that Vivienne’s debut was delayed until now, really.

The old school friendship between Gerald and the late Earl of Ravenswood is the only thing that makes this match possible at all.

We could not have arrived in London looking like disputed paupers and expected the new earl to honor his father’s gentlemanly promise. ”

Phoebe took a sip of her own tea and looked at Vivienne over the rim of her cup. She did not display any particular reverence for the grand plan. “And you, Vivienne? Are you prepared to marry a man you have never met simply because your fathers shared a dorm room thirty years ago?”

Vivienne lifted her chin. “He is an earl, Aunt Phoebe. He is incredibly wealthy. His estate in the neighboring shire is said to be magnificent. Why should I object to taking my rightful place?”

Because he might have the personality of a wet boot, Corinna thought. Because he might be cruel, or boring, or despise the sight of you. She kept her mouth firmly shut.

Phoebe simply hummed and turned her attention to the corner of the room. “And Corinna. Have you brought your books? I fear you will find the endless parade of drawing rooms frightfully dull.”

“I brought a few,” Corinna said quietly. “I am mostly looking forward to the libraries.”

Vivienne laughed, a light, musical sound that lacked any real warmth.

“Oh, do not encourage her, Aunt. If Corinna had her way, she would spend the entire Season hiding behind a curtain, reading about ancient Rome. Try not to wander off looking lost this week, Corinna. It reflects poorly on the family.”

“I shall try to maintain a firm grip on reality,” Corinna replied drily.

By the time the evening had fully set in, the trunks had been hauled upstairs. Eleanor had retired to her room with a headache, overwhelmed by the noise of carriages rattling past the window. Corinna and Vivienne were to share a large, well-appointed bedroom at the end of the hall.

Corinna stepped into the bedroom and found Vivienne already standing before the grand standing mirror, holding a pale blue silk gown against her chest.

“I think this one is for the first morning calls,” Vivienne said, turning this way and that. “It brings out my eyes. Do you not agree?”

“It is very blue,” Corinna said.

Vivienne sighed and tossed the gown onto the bed. “You are so very useless at this. You have no eye for presentation. It is no wonder you are so easy to overlook in a crowded room. You make no effort to be seen.”

“I see perfectly well from where I am,” Corinna said. She left her own small trunk unopened.

The room felt suffocatingly warm, filled with the scent of Vivienne’s intense floral perfume. I need to find a quiet space before I lose my mind. She turned and slipped back out into the hallway.

She wandered down the stairs, her soft leather shoes making no sound on the wooden steps. She passed the sitting room and found a smaller door slightly ajar at the back of the house. Pushing it open, she stepped into Phoebe’s study.

The room smelled of old paper, dried flowers, and beeswax. Books lined the walls from floor to ceiling, not arranged by size or color, but clearly heavily used. A large mahogany desk sat near the window, but what caught Corinna’s eye was the small, circular table in the corner.

Resting on it was a beautiful wooden chess set. The pieces were intricately carved from ebony and boxwood.

Corinna walked over and brushed her fingertips across the smooth head of the black knight. She pulled out the chair and sat down.

Her fingers moved on their own. She cleared the center of the board and began setting up a specific arrangement of pieces she had been turning over in her head during the carriage ride, a complicated middle-game scenario she had discussed with Thomas Briggs in his steward’s office back home.

Move the white bishop to pin the knight, advance the pawn, and trap the rook.

“You have a terrible habit of leaving your flanks exposed,” a voice said.

Corinna jumped slightly. Phoebe was leaning against the doorframe, watching her with a cup of wine in her hand.

“I was not expecting company,” Corinna said, her hands freezing over the board.

Phoebe entered the room and took the chair opposite. She glanced down at the chessboard. “You sacrifice the pawn to seize the center. Most aggressive.”

“It is necessary,” Corinna replied. “If one waits for the opponent to set the pace, one spends the game forever on the defensive. Far better to force them to answer to you.”

Phoebe lifted her eyes from the pieces and regarded Corinna steadily.

“You are very intuitive, my dear, and have passed your days largely among your father’s books.

You sound like you observe the world with the same sharp eye you give this board, and yet you permit your sister to address you as though you were no more than the furniture. ”

A flush rose in Corinna’s cheeks. “Vivienne is… Vivienne. She must have all the air in any room she enters. It is easier to let her take it.”

“Easier is not always wiser,” Phoebe said, her voice low and warm. “If you withdraw into your own thoughts, child, you will guard yourself so closely that no one may come near enough to you. You would sooner unravel a puzzle than risk a feeling.”

She sees too much, Corinna thought, her chest tightening. She is worse than Thomas.

Before she could summon a reply, the whisper of silk announced Vivienne. Her sister swept past the open door of the study, pausing only to cast a glance within.

“A chess set,” Vivienne observed, her tone laced with delicate disdain. “How singular, Corinna, to unpack that before anything else. Pray do not soil your gown with dust.”

She did not wait for an answer. On she went down the corridor, calling loudly for a maid to carry hot water to her chamber.

Corinna looked back to the board, her jaw tightening. She lifted her white bishop and set it down with a decisive click.

Phoebe watched the empty doorway a moment, then turned again to her niece.

“She truly believes your quiet competence offends her, you know. She has never been denied the smallest wish. She has no notion what she would be without her beauty to bargain with.” Phoebe took a sip of wine.

“This Season will prove most illuminating. For all of us.”

“I only hope I may find sufficient corners in which to conceal myself,” Corinna murmured.

“Do not hide too cleverly,” Phoebe advised, her gaze returning to the chessboard. “You may discover that someone is truly looking for you.”

A sharp knock at the front door echoed through the quiet house, interrupting the moment. Corinna heard the footsteps of the footman, the squeak of the hinges, and the low murmur of voices. A moment later, the footman appeared in the doorway of the study holding a silver tray.

“A card has arrived, madam,” the footman said, extending the tray toward Phoebe. “Delivered by hand.”

Phoebe picked up the thick, cream-colored card. She ran her thumb over the raised gold lettering, and a slow smile spread across her face. “Well. It appears the game has officially begun.”

“What is it?” Eleanor asked, bustling into the study with Vivienne close behind her. Eleanor had apparently recovered from her headache at the sound of the front door knocker.

Phoebe held the card up. “The Earl of Ravenswood requests the honor of the Ashwell family’s company at the Whitmore ball. Three days hence.”

Eleanor gasped, her hands flying to her cheeks. “Three days! Oh, merciful heavens. We must visit the modiste tomorrow morning. Vivienne’s gowns need pressing. We must arrange a carriage.”

Vivienne clasped her hands together, her blue eyes shining with absolute triumph.

She looked radiant, every inch the prize she had been raised to believe she was.

“I cannot wait to meet my intended,” she declared, breathless with excitement.

“He is wealthy, he is titled, and that makes him, directly, for me, by all accounts completely good-looking.”

Corinna remained seated at the chess table. She picked up a black pawn, rolled it smoothly between her fingers, and looked at her sister.

“I am so very glad,” Corinna said drily, “that someone in this family is finally marrying for love.”

Only Phoebe laughed.